Her Cowboy Soldier

by Cindi Myers

  “I don’t know anything about anyone eloping,” Amy said. “I wrote that because Sandra Ogleby told me she met her husband, Bart, at their prom. They married four years later.”

  “I didn’t even know about Larissa and Mike, and I know everything,” Charla said.

  Josh glared at Charla and she backed away. “I’ll just leave you two alone,” she said, and slipped into the back room.

  Amy turned to Josh again. “You’re blowing this all out of proportion,” she said. “If you actually read the article all the way through, you’ll see that I was very careful not to name names or give details. The article is about the prom as a tradition and rite of passage. I have quotes in there from the mayor and the police chief and some of the chaperones and other people in town about their proms. Clay Westerburg got into a fight at his prom, too—did you know that? That line in my article might have been referring to him.”

  He pressed his lips together and stared at the paper on the counter between them.

  “Admit it,” she said. “You’ve let the one article I wrote about you color your opinion of everything else. You don’t like me, so you don’t like my work.”

  His eyes met hers and the intensity of his gaze stole her breath. “I never said I didn’t like you. I don’t like what you do.”

  It would be so easy to lose sight of the real issue here, under the heat of that gaze. But she wouldn’t let some petty physical attraction—a simple biological response of a woman to a man—get in the way of standing up for herself. It had taken her so long to learn to put herself first, she couldn’t lose sight of that now. “My writing is part of me,” she said. “When you insult it, you insult me. How would you feel if I said you were a lousy teacher or an awful coach?”

  “You did say I was a lousy coach.”

  So much for thinking he had any sort of tender feelings for her. His only concern was his own grudge. “I did not. I questioned your qualifications—I never questioned your methods or your record.”

  He looked away, saying nothing.

  “Oh, now you’re doing that man thing, where you get all silent and refuse to answer me. Because, of course, I don’t deserve an answer. Brent used to try that, too, and it made me furious.”

  “I am not your husband.”

  “Thank goodness for that.”

  “Children, your shouting is scaring away customers.” Charla emerged from the back room and regarded them with the attitude of a scolding playground monitor.

  “I’ve said all I have to say.” Without another look in her direction, Josh turned and stalked away.

  Amy stared after him. Her heart pounded and she was breathing hard, as if she’d just raced up a flight of stairs.

  “You two just bring out the best in each other, don’t you?” Charla said.

  “I don’t know why I let him get to me.” She hugged her arms across her chest.

  “But you do let him get to you. I find that interesting.” Charla gave her a knowing smile.

  It was Amy’s turn to end a conversation by turning away, but Charla’s words gnawed at her. Why should she care so much what Josh thought of her and her work? Why did his opinion matter more than anyone else’s?

  And why, when she was with him, did she feel more alive than she had since before Brent died?

  * * *

  FROM THE COFFEE shop, Josh headed to the baseball fields for the next to last game of the season against the Paonia Eagles. He needed to focus on baseball and the kids, and forget about Amy. Forget the way her eyes blazed and forget the soft flush of pink that rose in her cheeks as she defended herself against his accusations.

  Guilt over his angry words edged out some of his initial rage. Was she right—had his confused emotions over the woman colored his view of her work?

  Would anyone but him recognize the line about the class jock as referring to him? Almost certainly not. But why had she taken the words he’d revealed in confidence—as a friend to a friend—and used them in her article?

  Was it because she didn’t see him as a friend, only as another interview subject? Was that the real reason for his hurt and anger?

  Cody Ellinghaus, the kid who usually covered the games for the paper, had assumed his regular seat next to the dugout. “Guess you’re over your mono,” Josh said.

  “Yeah.” Cody pushed his mop of blond hair out of his eyes. “The guys keep giving me a hard time, calling it the kissing disease. I never even kissed anybody to get it.”

  “Maybe next time.”

  “I hope there isn’t a next time. Mr. Burridge really liked the stories Ms. Marshall wrote while I was gone. He said it was like something you’d read in a big-city magazine. I was afraid he was going to fire me and have her write all the school stuff.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re back covering the games,” Josh said.

  “Me, too. Hope the Wildcats win tonight.”

  But Cody’s wish didn’t come true. Maybe they were tired from the long season, or maybe, with graduation so close, the players’ thoughts were on plans for the summer and beyond. “Get your heads in the game, guys,” Josh called after the shortstop missed a routine ground ball.

  The Wildcats ended up losing, six to nothing. “Hit the showers,” Josh said. “You all don’t need me to tell you how lousy you played tonight. You’ve got one more game to redeem yourselves before the season ends.”

  Josh retired to the dugout, ostensibly to make notes about the game, but the boys weren’t the only ones distracted today. He couldn’t get Amy off his mind.

  The whole time they’d been arguing, he’d been so aware of her—the curve of her cheek, the soft, floral scent of her. His physical response to her distracted him, even as her words aggravated him all the more. Why did she, more than anyone he’d met in a long while, get to him so badly? He’d spent months ignoring the criticism of Rick and others like him—but she’d written one story about him in a small-time weekly newspaper and it stuck like gravel in his shoe.

  Chase loped toward him and veered over to descend the steps into the dugout. “Can I talk to you a minute, Coach?”

  “Sure, Chase. What’s up?” Josh set aside his clipboard.

  Chase picked up a baseball and began kneading it, like an oversize worry bead. “I’m thinking of joining the military after graduation,” he blurted.

  Josh couldn’t hide his surprise at this revelation. “I thought you were going to play ball at Western State,” he said

  “Yeah...but Western State is so close. Not even half an hour away. I think I’d like to get farther away for a while.”

  Been there, done that, Josh thought. Though his decision to leave had come after college, he’d seen the military as an escape from the strife with his father, too. “Is this about the story in the paper—the one about the prom?”

  “No.” A hint of a smile tugged at the boy’s face. “Actually, that was kind of cool. It made me sound like a hero or something.”

  So maybe he’d been wrong when he’d told Amy she’d upset the boy. Obviously, Josh didn’t know the kid as well as he’d thought. “What’s happened to make you want to leave?” he asked.

  Chase set down the ball, any hint of mirth gone from his face. “Dad’s been drinking again. It’s been...bad.” His eyes met Josh’s and the pain there made the older man ache. “I just think it might be good to step away for a while. And the military would give me money for college later. So what do you think? If you had it to do over, would you go into the army again?” His gaze fell to the hook. “Except for losing your hand. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to do that again.”

  “That kind of thing is always a possibility if you’re called upon to fight,” Josh said. “You have to accept that.”

  “Well, yeah.” Chase scuffed his cleats against the concrete floor of the dugout. “But do you thi
nk the military is a good idea for someone like me?”

  “The military can be a great career. And the service needs smart young men like you, but think hard about why you’re doing this. Sure, you can leave your problems behind for a while, but they’ll still be there when you get back.” The army hadn’t improved his relationship with his father any. Most of the time it was as if he’d never left; he was still trying to prove himself to his dad.

  “I guess I’ll have to think about it some more,” Chase said. “Can I talk to you again, if I have questions?

  “Anytime.” Though he couldn’t tell the boy what he wanted to hear—that he could go away to an exciting adventure in the military and come home to a world where everyone respected him and looked up to him and were on their best behavior. Chase’s dad might sober up for good, and he might not—it was out of Chase’s hands, but the boy probably wasn’t ready to accept that yet. The only thing the military could change was him, and it might not be for the better.

  Chase climbed the steps up to the field, and Josh slumped against the back of the dugout. He opened and closed the hook on his hand, watching the mechanical movement as if it was something that wasn’t really a part of him. He’d lost more than his hand in Iraq. He’d lost the ability to trust others. These days he was always second-guessing people’s opinions of him—his dad, the school board, even Amy. He might wear an outer bravado of not caring what other people thought, but the wary looks and negative words wounded him as much as any bullet.

  * * *

  AMY ARRIVED AT the high school early on the morning of the science bee to find ten students—four girls and six boys—along with two moms and Josh, milling around the two vans that would take them all to Durango for the day’s events. She recognized some of the students from the prom: Chase Wilson and Heather Prentice, a boy everyone referred to as Mouse, and a few others whose names she couldn’t recall.

  “You can ride in the lead van with me,” Josh said, coming up behind her as she snapped off a photo of the kids clustered around the vans.

  “To what do I owe this honor?” she asked.

  “I want to keep an eye on you.”

  “I’ll bet he’d like to keep more than an eye on her,” a tall, black-haired boy with bangs falling into his eyes said.

  “What was that, Brian?” Josh asked.

  “Nothing, Coach.”

  “Brian, you’re riding with me.” One of the mothers ushered the dark-haired boy away.

  Amy followed Josh to the other van. “I can interview you while you’re driving,” she said, as she settled into the seat across from him. “Whose van is this?”

  “The school’s. They use it for supply runs and short trips like this.” He looked over his shoulder at the assembled students. The two moms had the rest of the kids settled in the other van. “Everybody got their seat belt on?”

  Assured that they were all belted in, he started the van and pulled onto the highway.

  “So the school board’s okay with you using the van for this trip,” Amy said. The school board meeting had left her with the impression that the school wouldn’t contribute any resources to the effort.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask them. But I asked the principal, and he’s okay with it, so you might want to take it up with him if it bothers you.”

  She didn’t miss the note of irritation in his voice, but she’d already decided the best way to get through this day was to kill Josh with kindness. “I noticed on the way over here this morning that Erica and her volunteers have started building the raised beds for the community garden.”

  “Yes. After I sent in an estimate of water costs, they approved the project. But you should know that. You cover the school board meetings.”

  She had known it; she’d merely seen it as an avenue to a less-hostile conversation with him. “Are you still helping her with the water system?”

  He was silent a moment. “You’re not going to stop with the questions, are you?”

  “No,” she said cheerfully. “It’s a long ride to Durango and I need something to do. Besides, I really am interested.”

  She sensed his struggle with whether or not to answer her, but apparently she’d won over his doubts. “We got the permit to collect water from the roof this week,” he said. “Next week we’ll start assembling the collection tanks. My dad’s got an old stock tank he’s donating, and the machine shop on Fourth is building a cover for it.”

  “That’s really nice of you to offer to help,” she said.

  “You sound surprised. I can be a nice guy.”

  He could also be sarcastic and annoying—but she wasn’t going to let him get to her. “Tell me more about the science bee.”

  “The students are assigned to teams—four or five students on a team, usually grouped by grade. They have to answer science-related questions. The last team standing wins.”

  “Sounds fun,” she said.

  “It is. If the judges disagree with their answer, the team has two minutes in which to defend their answer. It can get pretty exciting.”

  “So you’ve done this before?”

  He shook his head. “I found some footage of competition online, and we’ve been practicing after school.”

  “We’ve even got names for our teams.” Chase leaned forward to join the conversation. “The seniors and juniors are the Quasars, and the sophomores and freshmen are the Brainstorms.”

  “That’s great.” Amy added the names to the other information she’d collected.

  “Hey, Chase, what is a leveret?” Mouse called from the back of the van.

  “Too easy. It’s a young hare.” Chase looked smug.

  “Which gas freezes to form dry ice?” Josh asked.

  “Is it carbon dioxide?” Heather asked.

  “Yes. Now can you tell me at what rate is carbon dioxide increasing, per year, in the atmosphere?”

  “One part per million,” Heather answered.

  “Perfect.”

  Amy sat back and became a silent observer as Josh and the kids lobbed questions and answers back and forth. Josh had an easy relationship with the kids. They respected him, but they clearly liked him, too.

  How could he be so relaxed with them, but not with her?

  At the high school in Durango, they found a space in the parking lot and joined the dozens of teens milling around outside the auditorium. The two mothers handed out the team shirts—red for the Quasars, blue for Brainstorms, with Hartland High School across the back. “Some of us from the parents group pitched in,” one of the women said when Amy asked about the shirts.

  Josh hooked two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. “Huddle up, everybody.” Amy snapped pictures while he gave the students their final instructions. “Remember, our goal is to do our best and to have fun,” he said. “Work together and if you don’t know the answer, don’t be afraid to admit it. Since this is our first year, we want to scope out the competition and learn from them so we can do even better next year.”

  He put his hand in the center of the circle and they all piled hands on top. Amy climbed onto a nearby planter to shoot the scene from above, her throat tightening as she focused on Josh’s hook resting on top of the stack of hands. She loved that he didn’t try to hide his physical difference, or treat it like a handicap. She didn’t know if in his position she would have been so bold.

  Inside they found the tables assigned to them and the two moms set out water, pads of paper, pencils and calculators, while Amy took photos of the crowd. Josh joined her. “You getting everything you need?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She tucked the small digital camera into her shoulder bag. “Are you nervous?”

  “A little. We’re the newbies at this. I want the kids to have fun—and I want them to do well.”

  “I don’t know much ab
out science but it sounded in the van as if they know their stuff.”

  He shrugged. “It depends on the questions the judges ask.”

  “You’re really good with the kids. Your students, I mean.”

  “I like them.”

  “Did you always want to be a teacher?”

  “No. I have a degree in agriculture—you knew that, didn’t you?”

  “I think Grandma mentioned something about it.”

  “Agricultural science, from UNC. I went back to school after I got home from Iraq and added the courses I needed to get my teaching certificate. I thought I’d be a rancher, like my dad, using modern techniques to make the business more profitable. But my dad wasn’t interested.”

  “That must have been rough.”

  He shoved his good hand into his pants pocket. “It’s his ranch. He’s not ready for anyone’s help.”

  “You could buy your own place.”

  “I could. But someone suggested teaching, and I thought I’d give it a try. Turned out I liked it. I like the kids and I like the schedule. Someday I probably will have my own place, and teaching would be a nice fit with a farm or ranch, I think.”

  “You’d need good help. Between the greenhouses and orchards, I know Grandma and her helpers work full-time. Maybe ranching’s different.”

  “Not that different. You’re right. I’d need help. And the right kind of place. So many of the farms and ranches around here are in families—they don’t come up for sale that often.”

  “You never thought of living anyplace but here—in Hartland—did you?”

  “When I was younger, sure. But when I was over in Iraq and later, recovering in Germany—all I wanted was to come home.”

  She tried to picture him, lying in a hospital bed, dreaming of the open pastures and blue skies of Colorado, and felt an unfamiliar longing of her own. “I’ve never known what that was like,” she said. “I always made wherever I was at the time home. The people I loved made a place home.”